


love is this desire to help even when I know I can’t

by imadetheline



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, author carefully avoids planet names bc that's more work than she's willing to do, author needs to check herself before she wrecks herself, did i still write this? yep, has this been written a million times? yes, have i written versions of this same thing a hundred times before? also yes, i just needed to write some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28627413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: And then the dark figure sweeps into the cave, the wind roars back up, louder than ever, and the fear in Luke’s stomach pounces. His limbs obey faster than he’d thought possible in the cold, throwing him backward, away from the towering menace.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 123
Collections: Luke and Vader Bonding





	love is this desire to help even when I know I can’t

**Author's Note:**

> title from the poem How You Know by Joe Mills
> 
> i am once again apologizing for writing this instead of the many requests i have gotten. i promise i do plan on getting to them, but i have no clue when that will be so please be patient with me. anyway hope you guys like this!

Luke feels like he’s back on Hoth. Except, even though this planet is not as cold, this is worse because he had not been prepared in any way for the freezing temperatures: no jacket or insulation, just his flight fatigues. The snow is whipping around him, battering his face, and he stumbles, his foot catching on a snowdrift.

He rights himself clumsily, limbs stiff in the cold, and continues trudging on. There’s a cave up ahead that he’s been walking towards for what feels like hours--he knows it’s only been a few minutes--and yet it seems no closer. At first, the snow had leaked into his boots and made it very uncomfortable to walk, but now he can’t feel them. He’s slogging along on autopilot. His fingers, even the prosthetic ones, are jammed underneath his arms in a desperate attempt to find the last dregs of warmth, the emergency backpack slung over his shoulders barely noticeable anymore. It’d been the only thing he could salvage from his crash before the x-wing exploded.

The wind feels like it’s punching him back, striving against him as it whips up snow in spirals, but finally, finally, he tumbles into the cave, sliding down the slick, icy entrance and landing with a thump at the bottom. Luke winces as his limbs protest at the abuse, but he slowly pushes himself up to examine the cave. He’s out a lightsaber, and his blaster hadn’t survived the crash, so fighting capability is limited, but it’s fairly small and thankfully unoccupied, whatever made it not here anymore.

He breathes a sigh of relief and watches it puff out in front of him. The wind is the only audible thing as it blows over the entrance, sending small flurries of snow into the cave. Luke pulls himself up, rubbing his arms with numb fingers, and backs away from the opening, trying to escape the cold that’s seeped into his bones. Shivers wrack his frame as he tugs the pack from his back, dumping it unceremoniously on the frozen ground while he shakes his head to rid his hair of some of the snow from the raging storm.

Luke flexes his prosthetic, trying to gauge how well it’s holding up. The medics had told him, in no uncertain terms, that extreme cold was very bad for the joints and gears. Sure enough, he feels resistance when he curls his fingers. But there’s nothing to be done about it now. Nothing except try to conserve heat. It’s the least of his worries right now.

He lowers himself to the ground on shaky legs and rifles through the emergency pack. He’s not disappointed by its contents only because he hadn’t had high hopes in the first place: a few bandages and a stem shot that function as a medkit, a sleeping bag, a small lantern, a few ration bars, and two canteens of water. Luke grabs for the sleeping bag, slipping his legs into it immediately. It’s minimally helpful but better than nothing. The lantern isn’t bright or warm when he flicks it on, but it casts a dim glow for a few feet in each direction. He rechecks his commlink, but the signal is no better in here than out in the storm. 

A groan escapes his throat, and he wraps his arms around himself, hugging tightly, trying to will warmth back into his shaking form. Luke reaches for the Force, and it answers him readily, and somehow that seems to bolster his strength, stilling some of the shivers, though it does nothing for the lack of feeling in his toes, nor the delays in his prosthetic. There’s nothing for it, though, except to wait out the storm and hope he can then signal Leia. Hopefully, before the bounty hunter who shot him down finds him.

That’s something to think about while he waits, he supposes: he’d already been in the atmosphere, heading for the supply pickup, but with the massive storm clouds moving in, he hadn’t had that much of a warning before they were on top of him. Someone must have sold him, and by extension, the Rebellion, out if they knew he would be here. He’s going to need to discuss that with Leia. His one consolation is that he’d seen one of his shots clip the other ship’s wing. Hopefully, they’d been sent down too. 

The cold is returning, though, and Luke tries to reach further into the Force for more warmth. But he’s met only by another rush of cold, reaching flames that don’t burn, and a chill races up his spine. Memories of pain and falling, falling, falling flash through his mind. His prosthetic doesn’t move, but he feels the phantom pain of a limb that no longer exists, and fear floods his system, outweighing the cold freezing his limbs. He can’t move, gaze transfixed on the entrance to the cave, waiting, waiting. He can’t breathe. He’s not ready.

But the universe doesn’t seem to care because the wind seems to quiet, just for a moment, a single, bone-chillingly moment where the fear curls in Luke’s stomach. And then the dark figure sweeps into the cave, the wind roars back up, louder than ever, and the fear in Luke’s stomach pounces. His limbs obey faster than he’d thought possible in the cold, throwing him backward, away from the towering menace. His back slams into the ice wall behind him, and his shaking fingers search for a blaster that isn’t there, its pieces being buried under layers of snow far away, useless to him.

His gaze searches frantically around the cave for some kind of weapon, but there’s nothing, nothing. Finally, his eyes raise to the black, caped figure. Darth Vader stands menacingly tall, blocking the only way out. Fear is gripping Luke’s insides, his heart, his thoughts--sluggishly trying to process anything beyond horror. He’s not ready, wasn’t prepared to face him so soon after Bespin. This man had toyed with him, mutilated him, then brought his whole world crashing down around him.

Darth Vader stares back, uncaring, or at least his mask fixes on Luke’s trembling form, still pressed against the ice, as far away as he can get from the man: it’s barely a stone’s throw. It’s not enough. He hates the fear in his bones, but he can’t seem to shake its claws, digging into him. Vader will take him before the emperor, torture, and turn him, regardless of their… connection. Luke has already resolved not to turn, but he doesn’t particularly want to die either, especially not at the hands of his… his father. His breath rattles in his chest, almost a twin to Vader’s respirator. That thought only brings more fear.

“I mean you no harm, young one.” 

Vader’s voice echoes through the space and in the Force. It’s louder than the wind whistling outside, louder than Luke’s thoughts. He can’t escape it, but he doesn’t believe it. “How… how did you f-find me?” The chattering of his teeth makes it hard to form words that his brain is still struggling to find.

“Your _rebellion_ evidently needs to vet its members more carefully if someone is leaking their poster boy’s location.” The way Vader says rebellion clearly illustrates what he thinks of its legitimacy, and Luke feels a flash of anger in defense of his friends. Vader’s helmet tilts almost in response to that thought, and he moves forward into the dim circle of light. Luke’s panic flares again, and he desperately tries to melt into the ice behind him. He juts his chin out, trying to hide some of the fear he knows is swirling around him in the Force. Distantly, he thinks of how disappointed Vader must be to have a son like him, scared and weak. Vader suddenly stops in his tracks, conflict, and uncertainty swirling around him, and Luke pushes the thought away.

Some of Luke’s adrenaline is fading, though, and his brain is once again starting to process just how cold he is. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, the life-giving organ thumping slowly in his chest. A glance down at his fingers, the flesh ones--tinged red--tells him it’s beating too slowly. He glances longingly to the abandoned sleeping bag resting near Vader’s feet but dares not move closer to grab it. That would put him within Vader’s grasp. And a childish part of him doesn’t wish to show any more weakness in front of his father than he already is.

The rumbling voice once again pierces through the haze settling over his mind, and he jolts, eyes jerking to Vader’s figure, the man’s cape whipping about his heels in the flurries of snow that float from the opening behind him, “I truly mean you no harm, my son.” There’s a pause, and Luke’s suspicion flows freely. “Search your feelings. You need not be afraid of me.”

And the Force is whispering around him, around them both, and he can’t make out the words, but he senses no deceit. He doesn’t understand, and his legs are shaking. He can only tell because his vision isn’t quite steady; he still can’t feel his limbs. Luke’s tired and frightened, and he misses Leia’s steadying presence and Tatooine’s twin suns. He glances up at his father, this man he has never known and still wants to so desperately, and--against his better judgment--he believes him. 

He doesn’t know why, but even if this is all a trick, it’s not like he’s going to escape his father this time. The storm still rages outside, and Vader blocks the only entrance. He’s at his father’s mercy either way, not strong enough to best him at any sort of duel, let alone with the first effects of frostbite setting in. It feels like giving up, and he sends a silent apology to Leia, but he’s so tired, and he’s not strong enough, not like her. He hopes she hears.

But before he can peel himself from the freezing wall behind him, Vader speaks again, his presence swirling around them in that same uncertainty as if he’s conflicted over something, “I… I am sorry, Luke.” His name echoing in the air is tinged with grief and regret and guilt as if, in that one word, his father cannot contain the emotions behind his shields. Luke can do nothing but stand, frozen, and listen. “I do not wish for you to fear me, little one.”

Luke can’t help his glance at his prosthetic hanging limply at his side. He curls the fingers, and they respond, but it’s never been more apparent that they are not real, not truly a part of him. He can hear the gears whirring in the silence, straining against the cold. Vader--his father-- had taken that from him.

And yet, here he stands, apologizing, regret echoing loudly across the bond Luke has tried so hard to ignore for months. And maybe, some part of him whispers, maybe if he’s apologizing, that means there’s something left of him, some good buried beneath metal and anger and pain. If that’s true, then, for the galaxy’s sake, doesn’t Luke have an obligation to try to bring that light out, as possibly the only person left who can? Already some of his fear is leaking away, his father’s sincerity chasing it off. And so he raises his gaze and steps away from the wall. 

Immediately, his knees almost buckle, numb and shaking. Luke manages to steady himself, blinking. And then there’s a guiding hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed his father move in his daze, but now he’s here, basically holding Luke up, warm and unshakeable. Vader’s already tugging on him, pulling him towards the abandoned sleeping bag. “You need warmth, child.”

Luke chuckles at the barely hidden parental scolding, his tone dry, “I hadn’t noticed.” He’s pushed gently down on the material next to his backpack, but he glances up in time to see his father shake his head fondly, and a smile stretches across his numb cheeks. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

His father’s hand drops from his shoulder as Luke slips his legs into the sleeping bag, and he misses the warmth almost immediately. But then there’s a creaking, and Vader is bending, his large bulk hitting the icy ground ungracefully with a muffled thump as he sits. Luke looks on speechless, the dark lord and commander of the Imperial navy sitting next to him on the floor of some cave in the middle of a snowstorm. When did his life come to this?

Vader looks to him again, the mask skeletal in the dim lighting of the lantern resting near them. “You will not survive the night with that thin material.” Luke shudders but knows it’s true, has known since he slipped into this cave and looked at the contents of his pack that survival was slim, but to hear his father echo the sentiment sends another chill racing through him. He has heard tales of the unbeatable Darth Vader, how nothing can stop him, knows the man could make his way through this storm with little trouble. But he stays. He stays for Luke. But if he’s going to die anyway, then- 

Vader cuts off his musing, his voice a command, “You will not be dying, young one.”

Luke blinks, trying to parse the emotions behind that statement, spoken as if it is the truth and Vader will accept nothing less. “But how-”

Vader once again cuts him off, “My suit produces heat as it functions.” Luke waits for him to elaborate, but he does not. And then it clicks, even as Vader reaches for the clasp of his cape and swings it off his shoulders, gesturing Luke closer. “Come here, child.”

Luke hesitates for only a moment before his body decides for him, craving warmth. So he scoots closer to his father’s dark figure. The cape is dropped around his shoulders as soon as he’s within reach, and he grabs for it. The heavy material is already warm from Vader’s armor, and it tingles against his numb fingers. And then his father’s arm is snaking around his shoulders and dragging him even closer until he’s pressed to the man’s side. Luke’s shock at the motion is quickly replaced by gratefulness, which he pushes across their bond, the armor like a miniature sun warming him.

He never imagined he’d have this: his father, alive, and holding him as if he actually cares. The mask tilts down to regard him, but he ignores it. The warmth is bringing with it renewed exhaustion, and he stifles a yawn, blinking. The wind whistles outside the cave, but here they are separate from the galaxy; in here, Luke doesn’t have to worry about what happens next; he only knows that his father is holding him. And maybe it’s selfish--and he knows it can’t last--but he wishes it could. 

His eyes flutter shut, and his head tilts slightly, coming to rest on the warmth of his father’s side. The arm around his shoulders tightens, squeezing gently. There are no words, but he hears it echo across the bond anyway, _Sleep, my son. I will protect you._ Luke feels the promise there, and he sleeps.

<<<>>>

Luke blinks numbly, still dazed. He’s moving, being carried; he feels the arms cradling him to someone’s chest. He feels warm, but he can’t see much. The sky is dark, and he dimly remembers the storm and his father. It doesn’t seem to be snowing anymore. Vader’s helmet tilts down as he continues walking. Luke’s consciousness is flickering again, still unsteady, but through the bond, he manages, _Where are you taking me?_

_Back to your friends._ Sadness and loss reach Luke, and he almost wishes he could reassure his father. But where uncertainty and conflict surrounded his father’s presence earlier, now there is only newfound resolve, as if he’s made up his mind. 

The other part of Luke can’t help the relief, the joy, at knowing he’s going to see Leia and Chewie and Wedge again. Yet, he can’t help whispering _why?_ across their bond.

A wave of dark amusement, tempered by self-hatred, seeps through his father’s shields. _Because I could not keep you, young one._ Luke’s eyes slip shut again, and he sucks in a breath of the icy air still ruffling his hair. Safe is the word his father left unspoken: I could not keep you safe. But Luke hears it anyway.

He doesn’t have a response, doesn’t know if there is one, so he just turns into his father’s warmth and sends his gratefulness and happiness and something lighter across their bond.

**_Sleep_ ** _, Luke._ The Force presses the darkness around him once more, wrapping him in its embrace at his father’s request, and he doesn’t resist.

<<<>>>

Leia is the first face he sees when he wakes. His hand, the flesh one, is gripped tightly in her grasp even in her slumber. She isn’t truly relaxed, here, in a chair by his cot in the Alliance medbay, and yet he can’t bring himself to wake her. She doesn’t get enough rest as it is. But he can see the stress of this war on her face even in sleep. He wishes he could take it from her but knows she wishes the same for him. So they’ll just have to shoulder it together, as they always do.

Luke reaches for her presence, and hers reaches back, calming and bright. If his father is flames in the Force, burning and fierce, Leia is like the ground beneath his feet, steadying and unyielding. He doesn’t know who he would be without her.

He rests his head back against his pillow, staring up at the white of the ceiling, and thinks of his father. The cave hadn’t been a dream. He’s sure of it; the Force is whispering of its reality. There is light--and hope--in his father, and Luke smiles: he’s nothing if not optimistic.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys liked it leave a comment. They make my day! Seriously I love reading them so please leave me one cause they motivate me to write more! if you guys have ideas for other stories send me an ask on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline) or just yell about stuff with me. Info about me and all my other tumblrs are [here](https://infoabtmaddie.carrd.co/#)


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